Stay Calm and Keep Driving
by TimeLadyHollyKrushnic
Summary: It's hard to say which is the better vehicle, one with leather upholstery stained with years of blood and childhood memories, or the one sneaked away and thrown through world after world and trapped in the form of a 1950s Police Call Box. Both old, both wandering, both belonging to families knit together by spilled blood and adventure, and both housing incredible people. Both loved


**Stay Calm and Keep Driving**

**This will probably remain a one-shot, unless loads of you readers want another few chapters where _maybe_ the worlds will mesh more.**

The Impala's engine purred comfortably loudly as its occupants rested as best they could, one driving and the other leaning against the window to look out at the countryside. The green-gold pastures of Kansas were more of a lull than anything else, and soon, the passenger had fallen asleep. This allowed the driver to look over more often and with more emotion in his eyes than he generally let himself show. He couldn't afford to bring attention to himself, and certainly not the attention that, if his friend found out, would be given in this case.

So he glanced over, smiling to himself, before returning his eyes to the road, a quiet hum playing across his lips as he resisted playing the radio. Sleep would be extremely necessary for both the hunters after their last case, especially considering werewolves were nighttime creatures. Neither hunter had slept in a little less than a week, and if he could find them a motel (separate beds, if not rooms) that would be of the good...

He yawned and stretched an arm, casually stringing it around the headrest of the passenger's seat, his hand dipping down to touch messy, soft hair in stroking motions. He wouldn't dare wake his slumbering friend with these careful movements; after all, he didn't think he would be able to explain himself without stammering and (God forbid) blushing.

Besides, no excuse he gave would be good enough, or truly explain what he was doing, unless he told the truth. Which he would never do; telling the truth would be selfish, demanding, and all too presumptuous of himself. It would be asking too much of his friend, _just his friend_, because he knew... he knew this was one-sided. Tears wouldn't help, and they'd be so humiliating, so he simply shut himself off. When the emotions welled, he quelled them with his harsh insecurity and knowledge that, at any time, his friend could zap away. The closer they got to the end, though, the weaker the angel was getting... and he had a sinking feeling it was all his fault.

So he kept silent, hand slow and gentle, eyes continually glancing over to make sure... _yeah, still asleep, I'm still safe._

He would not risk their strong (and extremely platonic despite what others may think) relationship because of his sudden desires. It wasn't fair to the other (no matter how much he dreamed or wished), and he certainly wasn't going to make it as if his own stupid lustful feelings were more important or bore more worth.

It was enough that everyone already thought they were dating/married/engaged/whatever the hell people came up with. And the time they saved that shape-shifting baby... oh god, he didn't even want to think about the details of _that_ case right now. It was too... too good in his head. It felt too right, and he didn't want to think about why it felt so right. He wasn't in... this would be over. If he ignored his feelings, they'd disappear soon, right? Of course they would. Good things never lasted so long, yet another reason why he would never pursue this feeling.

Besides, he simply couldn't afford these deep emotions at the moment. The world was ending, it was his fault, and he had to ignore himself for now. Until this all ended, until the angels either destroyed or saved the world, not a second sooner.

Besides, how many times had he tried to be/actually gotten what he wanted and was happy, only to have it snatched away just as quickly? He wouldn't endanger his best, and only, friend's life for such a stupid reason.

So he focused on driving, and he slowly, reluctantly, returned his arm to his side when he felt it had been long enough. His best friend woke up slowly in the seat beside him, stretching and yawning like a kitten, enough to make the driver's pants just the slightest uncomfortable at seeing those plush pink lips wiped over in such a thoughtless gesture, the flash of white teeth and the crinkles at the corners of those beautifully bright eyes...

_Shut up, brain. And you down there, too._

"So, where're we headed now, Doctor?" Rose asked softly, still a little sleepy as she rubbed her brown eyes, blinking so trustingly and sweetly at her friend as he drove. He issued a small smirk of a smile back, hiding his infatuation behind a well-practiced exterior.

"California," he grinned. "Beaches'll do ya some good, right?"

"Sounds good," Rose smiled back, wondering how he had known she needed a good long break on a golden beach and wind in her hair.

* * *

"Dammit, Sammy, move the hell over!" Dean barked, racing around the desk of his beloved TARDIS, hands shifting through the buttons and levers to find the precisely right ones. Sam backed away, hands raised in mock surrender as he issued his bitchiest bitch face; not that Dean noticed, he was too busy consoling his 'baby' into submission.

As the Timelord fretted and grinned over his strange machine, Sam let out a frustrated sigh and leaned against the wall next to Castiel. He was watching Dean with interested, blue eyes, as if memorizing every movement the Timelord made; Sam wouldn't be surprised if the Ahren really was, though. There had been an undeniable chemistry between the two the minute they met, a different one from the brotherly bond between the human companion and his Timelord friend.

Castiel had been saved from a burning planet where his own kind, The Ahren, had their religion twisted around so much that the 'peasants' (usually the soldiers and subordinates) of the planet were worshipping the three leaders of the Church rather than their God. Raphael and Michael had schemed together with a subordinate named Zachariah to 'cleanse the population', while Lucifer incited the people into the filthiest of depravities and let loose the most dangerous animals he could find on the general populace. Castiel had led the rebellion against the leaders, but the war had been all but lost on his side when Dean and Sam had showed up.

Castiel had actually saved Dean from being devoured by flames as the Church fell, crushing the leaders, Sam, and even some of Castiel's family. The dark-winged Ahren had used what little power he had left to bring back Sam's body, healed and ready, but empty. Another Ahren on Castiel's side, Rachel, had claimed she could Call Back Sam's soul, and in the midst of a ring of fire, she Sang Sam's soul back into his body.

Afterwards, Castiel had escaped with Dean and Sam, avoiding being kinged by what little was left of his people. He had left Rachel in charge, and when the blonde, ginger-winged Ahren had waved goodbye, Sam saw nothing more in Castiel's eyes than regret that he was leaving Rachel to the mess of their home. Dean might've imagined more, because he had left the planet in a 'hmph' of childish disgust and petulance.

With a tilt to his head, Castiel turned to Dean, and Sam figured he could probably host a really great New Years party, and neither alien would notice. So he sneaked back into the TARDIS and figured it was for the best that the thoughtful, and rather scarily sentient, machine had moved his room so far down from Dean's.

Until he discovered that the Timelord was more of a blockhead than pretty much anyone else in any universe, because Sam had woken to a sexually-frustrated Timelord working on a panel of the TARDIS above his own bed. Blinking up at Dean - now defying gravity Sam sleepily realized as the Timelord shifted and growled, pulling at wires and ruffling his already-mussy hair - Sam slowly came to the conclusion that Dean would most likely never allow himself to have Castiel.

After causing the destruction of his home-world and the genocide of his entire species, Sam figured that, if he had been in the situation, he would never allow himself to have nice things either. The Timelord was masochistic to the point of celibacy and denial, though, and Sam didn't think he would ever have to mention how ridiculously suicidal Dean was in near-death situations. Dean had tried sacrificing himself for Sam at least a hundred times, and actually regenerated twice for the human, coming close to permanently dying more often than Sam could - or would want to - count.

Which all sucked, since Castiel seemed to return the feelings just as strongly, and the Ahren was starting to get quiet and sullen a hell of a lot easier recently.

"Got it!" Dean grinned proudly, spinning to put his back to the desk. "Wanna check it out?" He gestured to the doors and snapped his fingers before bounded out, only pausing to grab his leather coat and to stroke the inside of the TARDIS one last time.

Sam shook his head. Maybe Timelords just had sexual relationships with their TARDIS and Dean had a fight with her the night he brought Castiel along. Sam wouldn't put it past the Timelord, looking at the way he interacted so lovingly with the time machine, but he had a gut feeling that Dean really liked Castiel and that Ahren really liked him back. Now he just had to get them to admit it to each other...

Castiel ruffled his grey-black feathers before, much more cautiously than the over-excited Timelord, stepping out onto the surface of the new planet.

Sam grabbed his coat and headed out as well, wondering curiously if there would be an adventure or a rest period on this planet.

"Hey, Cas, bet I can beat you to the nearest pub!" Dean crowed before taking off, Timelord biology working in his favour to make it an actual race between the two. Castiel rolled his eyes and sighed, muttering something under his breath about how ridiculous this race was_ because Ahren have the ability to teleport_, Sam thought. The human figured the look on Castiel's face was one of impatience, and yet it held a deep fondness for Dean's childish and rambunctious behaviour.

"Will you be alright on your own, Samuel?" the Ahren asked gruffly, well-aware that leaving Dean's oft-easily-lost-and-accident-prone companion alone would only be asking for trouble.

"I have my phone," Sam muttered, feeling like a child. With a swish of air and ruffle of feathers, Castiel was gone in an instant, leaving Sam to wander about on his own, piddling human strength only allowing him to go so far so quickly.

Cursing Timelord and Ahren alike, Sam made his way down the hill they stood on, trying not to twist an ankle on the steep decline.

This _always_ happened.


End file.
